Tormod's Trust
by quaint.camera
Summary: Muarim is plagued by doubts about his ability as a "father" and memories of his Little One. When he leaves the Liberation Army celebration without telling Tormod, the boy comes back upset, but they know each other too well to stay mad for long. Oneshot.


_**Tormod's Trust**_  
_**a Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn fanfiction**_

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A/N: Wrote this quite awhile ago . . . over a year ago, in fact. Rowap-Berry, my forever real-life beta, totally just found it yesterday on her laptop, and I was happy, because otherwise it would have been lost forever. (I lost it myself, you see.)

Anyway, as I was editing, I realized I had forgotten the words "beorc" and "laguz" entirely, which shows just how long ago it was since I was into the Fire Emblem fandom—about a year ago, I was obsessed with the Radiant games, especially Prince Pelleas. (I started a fic about him, too, which I never finished. It was called "The Tragedy of Prince Pelleas" and I might put up what I _did_ get finished soon.) Thinking about them now, they bring back such good memories for me; I love the Greil Mercenaries SO MUCH!

. . . Maybe I should replay the games. :) Then again, maybe not, because I'm really lazy and I've been busy recently. But enough blabbing from me. Please enjoy, and R&R if you feel so inclined, because it's always appreciated.

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Muarim felt a wash of relief at the warm, quiet solidity of the tent as he stepped inside it. The quarters normally felt close, but now that they were abandoned, it was actually quite nice. Night had settled over Daein, and as the past few hours had grown cooler, the young prince had broken out a special share of food to reward his soldiers for their recent triumphs.

With Sothe and Micaiah at their forefront, the Liberation Army had succeeded again, so that there was pride even in the prince's timid face. He knew that the bodies of Daein's enemies had been slain this day, but he knew nothing of the stench of blood and how it flowed and gushed out of open wounds and eagerly spattered any surface. But Muarim knew, and his little one knew it too—it was always there behind the laughter in his eyes, that knowledge.

Finding a place to lie down was proving to be more of a challenge than he'd expected. Tomes lay scattered in neat piles about the floor of the tent, littering the two sparse sleeping pallets that were rumpled and unmade. The tomes were Tormod's, as Muarim needed no other weapon that his claws.

Muarim felt suddenly guilty for slipping away from the celebration when it was evident that the child had wanted him to stay, but he also knew that his presence had prevented the boy from enjoying himself fully—the child felt an unnaturally strong obligation to remain at his side, thus intimidating the other _beorc_ he might have spoken with, and so Muarim had slipped quietly away.

Despite the boy's attempts to hide it from him, he knew the child was excited to have other _beorc_ to talk to. It was good that he had more of his kind to socialize with, and Muarim maintained no deceptions. He was not a proper father, let alone a proper _beorc_ substitute for one! And however much Tormod claimed that Muarim more than made up for the parents that he'd never had, Muarim knew differently, for he'd seen the bright flare of the boy's plain brown eyes that never failed to give away his excitement. It was impossible not to get excited himself when he saw Tormod's eyes alight. This, combined with his head of flaming red hair that could never be tamed, meant Tormod literally glowed with youth and vigor like the fire that he studied in his tomes.

It had been interesting to see the boy progress in the _beorc_ magic he studied. It seemed that he was always learning new ways to use the fire and attacks that grew increasingly powerful and devastating. Time and time again, Muarim was surprised at the tenacity and dedication with which the boy pursued his studies.

Before another mage had introduced Tormod to the magic arts, Muarim had viewed them with the same prejudice that clouded the eyes of ignorant _beorc_. He had thought it weak to need anything other than claws to fight, but when he had seen the boy's bright eyes and the command with which he extended his palm to send up a flare of fire, Muarim knew just how wrong he'd been. Tormod had explained to him the various advantages that magic offered _beorc_ over different types of _laguz_.

Since his fur was extremely flammable, Tormod had the power to extinguish him with a fiery burst if he so chose. Also, it would take Muarim longer to claw the boy apart than it would for him to apply one burst of magical fire. He had always considered it ironic that the boy had this power over him, but when he saw the admiration that lay openly in his eyes, he knew the boy would die before using his magic in that way. Thus the _beorc_ child had changed both his views on magic and, in a capacity only he had, softened his heart.

As of now, he settled down on the larger pallet, stretching out to his full length and yawning heartily. It would be some minutes before Tormod would be able to sift through the crowd and determine that he'd returned to their tent, and by that time, hopefully, the boy would be either caught up with someone or having too good a time to leave. Maybe then he'd stay out until the celebration ended, enjoying a few hours of freedom. Leaving Tormod to his _beorc_ companions without his poor excuse for a father was the only gift Muarim knew how to give the boy.

* * *

He woke sometime later, and in the sudden darkness, a light flared up, revealing a moon-pale face and light brown eyes which were still luminous, but tired. Tormod glanced up at him and dropped the hand that had been cupping the candle, and he saw there was no match in it; he'd lit it with magic. He said nothing, but seemed to be waiting for Muarim to speak. His lips were pressed tightly together in a frown that said he was trying to be stern, but his eyes said otherwise.

"I did not want to leave without telling you, but it seemed the only way to get you to stay with your _beorc_ friends." The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Muarim continued, "It is important that you speak with other _beorc_ because I am ignorant of the _beorc_ intricacies, and beings require companionship of their own kind." Tormod's eyes glittered angrily at him, and he said pleadingly, "Even you, Little One."

At the use of Muarim's special name of affection for him, the boy's face softened, his mouth losing the unnatural frown and his eyes dimming to a steady, calm glow. "I get what you're saying, Muarim," he said, "but I could say the same thing to you! Some of the other _laguz_ attended the celebration and we even fight right alongside some _laguz_, but you never speak more than a word to them. Why do you distance yourself like that?"

Muarim shifted uneasily on the pallet and sat up to face the boy. "They do not know _beorc_ as I do. I am close to you, and so have learned more of _beorc_ ways than would befit a _laguz_."

Tormod lowered his head of fiery hair in frustration; it was frizzier than usual, likely due to the excitement of the party, and Muarim nearly smiled.

When Tormod looked up, his eyes were closed and he was breathing his customary deep sigh of exasperation. "_Beorc_ and _laguz_ . . . They never can just get along, can they?"

Even if he hadn't spoken, Muarim would have known the boy's reaction. Since he was a baby, the boy had been faced with the differences of the two species and the hate they had for one another. Muarim's best explanations and constant exposure to the cruelty of the world had never satisfied Tormod. He still didn't see why the two different races couldn't just apologize to each other and go on as if nothing had happened. In fact, if people hadn't begun attacking him because he traveled with a _laguz_, Tormod would never have taken up magic in the first place; he was peaceful by nature.

Startled, he realized the boy had been watching him as his face had, no doubt, flickered through his private thoughts. He gave him a questioning glance, and he looked away, flushing lightly. Muarim peered closer—Tormod's embarrassment was rare, and especially rare around him. The boy's gaze flicked upward, and Muarim asked, "What is it, Little One?"

The boy didn't answer, but heaved an exhausted sigh. He shed the orange robe that distinguished him as a fire mage and started at the candle that sat between them. "I had a good time at the celebration . . . I guess."

Tormod was never unsure about anything. It was always "I did this," "I think this," and "I hate this," never—

"Then why do you appear so weary?" Muarim asked pointedly.

The boy's eyes showed his surprise and anger at his body's betrayal of how he felt. After being together for so long, it was hard for them to hide how they felt from each other. Tormod sighed again, adjusting his headband. "I don't know. The celebration was merry enough, and everybody's convinced that we'll eventually be able to take Nevassa, if we keep gaining allies as quickly as we have been lately, but . . ."

"That's not what's bothering you," Muarim said. It wasn't a question.

Tormod snorted. "Nope. I'm never worried in a fight. I'm a good mage, and I don't say that boastfully. It's not like getting to my level of skill hasn't taken serious work. Besides, if my fire ever did get doused, I'd have a loyal green beast to protect me." He flashed a taunting grin, but almost immediately, his face took on its old pensive expression. "The prince was there, and I could see how happy he was that everything was going well. He didn't have to use up all those fancy rations on his soldiers, but he did, and it was really nice of him, because most of them were intended for himself and his confidantes. I wouldn't have even realized that if Izuka hadn't been screeching about it so loud that one of the healers finally went over and used a Sleep staff on him." Tormod gave a fleeting laugh. "You should've seen the poor prince! He was practically panicking until the healer assured him it was harmless."

"Izuka does seem to be hated by both the _beorc_ and _laguz_," Muarim said, thoughtfully.

Tormod nodded agreement. "Everybody was toasting Micaiah, saying how the Maiden of Dawn had come to lead them to take back Daein, but what was funny was that I ran into Sothe and she wasn't with him. Come to think of it, I didn't see her at all . . ."

"Are you certain?" Muarim asked, glad to have gotten to the source of Tormod's anxiety. "They could hardly be toasting her if she wasn't present to accept."

Tormod thought for a moment, then his gaze connected with Muarim's and he shook his head. "I would have known if I'd seen her."

"She was not with Sothe? That seems unusual."

"I'll say!" Tormod agreed, sounding more himself. "He's like her shadow, her protector . . . Much like you and me, and yet different."

"Little One . . . I have not told you yet, but I have sensed that _laguz_ blood runs in her. She is one of the Branded, but nobody knows this. I have told her that I know, but I also assured her I would not tell anyone, so you must not say anything to anyone either."

Tormod nodded his agreement. While Muarim wasn't worried about Tormod purposefully revealing that Micaiah was Branded, he _did_ have a tendency to run at the mouth whenever he got excited . . .

"I won't tell," he said, and smiled. "Ironic, isn't it? A weaker _laguz_ protected by a stronger _beorc_—nearly the exact opposite of us."

"You are as strong as I am, but differently," Muarim said quietly. To reassure the boy, he continued, "You simply must have not seen her. If she wasn't with Sothe, she had to be with the soldiers. Do not concern yourself further, Little One. I am sure she is fine, and I can tell that you are exhausted. You need to rest."

Tormod looked unhappy. "You're right, Muarim. It's probably just my imagination running away with me, and I've already done enough worrying you about nothing. I'm sorry I ever brought it up."

"There is no need for apology. It would please me more if you would rest."

"Alright, alright," Tormod conceded, aiming a puff of breath at the candle. "I'm going."

He stretched out on the sleeping pallet, wearing only his plain tunic and pants. Muarim knew Tormod was slight for a beorc, but he was always awed at the small, slender form that lay and breathed quietly on beside him on the pallet until he fell asleep.

Such vulnerability made him feel very large and almost frighteningly powerful, but it was completely balanced by the fatherly, affectionate feelings he had for the boy. He knew that he would never desire to extinguish the fiery soul of the small, kindly _beorc_ child who lay drifting off to sleep beside him, and he was thankful that Tormod understood that. He was the one being in all of Tellius who trusted him enough to sleep in the same tent.

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A/N: Have I mentioned how difficult it is to keep your characters straight when they're both of the same gender and you don't want to awkwardly say their names repeatedly? Well, if I haven't, it's difficult. And this is one of those instances.:( GRRRRR.


End file.
